


do you think you can be that guy to make the queen of the angels sigh

by littlereddress



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: au is the best u
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:13:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5441393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlereddress/pseuds/littlereddress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>tell me how to win your heart for i haven't got a clue. klaroline//au is the best u</p>
            </blockquote>





	do you think you can be that guy to make the queen of the angels sigh

**Author's Note:**

> STOP WRITING, JULIE. LET ME DO IT INSTEAD.

do you think you can be that guy to make the queen of the angels sigh?

x

_(11:43 am. hvar.)_

_you have one new message. thursday four thirty six am._

_caroline—_

she slams her index finger down on the delete button. she knows that lilt of her name and how it makes the heat pool in the base of her stomach, sends her heart catching in her chest. and honestly, she doesn’t fucking have time.

x

somewhere in the gulf coast, an older brother smirks at his younger brother’s hangover, regret stuck under half moon fingernails and leftover champagne on his breath.

the fountain in the courtyard is a pile of rubble and rebekah has been avoiding nik all day, hiding out in her room after her return from vacation with the youngest salvatore. croatia was beautiful apparently.

 _oh nik_ , she intones from the safety of the balcony, _when will you ever learn?_

elijah clucks his tongue in his cheek.

x

his daughter grows up lovely but with a penchant for mischief that he cannot seem to undo.

she has her mother’s hair and her father’s coarse grin. her wit is unparalleled and she can’t seem to shake the boys that fall at her feet when nik escorts her to xavier uni prep. he’ll sigh loudly and bare his teeth when they get too close and hope laughs and laughs at him, rolling her skirt another few inches, exposing more thigh.

he is in way over his head.

the day he realizes that he may be the oldest, evilest creature on this god forsaken planet but has no idea how to tame a sixteen year old girl is the day that he catches some insolent little twit kissing her on the school steps, hand slowly gliding up her blouse as his daughter wisps the smirk that got him into debauchery for a millennium.

that’s the day that he decides boarding school may be the best option.

(he loses by a landslide vote and grumbles to his studio and calls stefan, who hoots and hollers maniacal screams of chuckles into his receiver.

 _really? god, I could imagine if you and_ — is where he stops and becomes silent. _have you tried_ —

 _yes, of course_ , he bites off and that signals the end of this conversation.)

x

croatia is lovely any time of year, but she likes it best in the spring. she can entertain outside in the evenings. rose brut in cocktail glasses rimmed with gold sugar and the scent of salt and sea that cleanses her palette of the day. the city itself comes alive with bursting irises and trailing confederate jasmine. the stems of her heels click clack on the cobblestones, pastels lurid against the robin’s egg sky.

the flat is quiet after stefan and rebekah’s departure a few days prior. the sheets are on the line, white cotton in the breeze. the sky is darkening in the distance and a low rumble echoes over the ceiling.

she’s happy. alone. but happy.

she has no reason to go to the apple store in city center and have them figure out some way to bring that message back to her phone. to hear the strain of his words against the receiver, to crawl through the power lines until she reaches new orleans charged with electricity and years of longing that she hasn’t been able to erase so easily, still locked inside her holding on.

x

she goes to paris on a whim.

she hates how right he was.

x

she goes to rome following paris.

and then she goes to tokyo. and then she goes back to her home and sits in front of the sea wall with bare feet and naked legs and silk sundresses on her back and she does something she hasn’t done in centuries. she prays.

x

klaus invited hope’s boyfriend to dinner one april evening during spring break. they dined on the terrace and his grip around the butter knife was less than healthy until haley slammed her fist on the table and rolled her eyes. the spanish inquisition was tame compared to what he put that boy through and he honestly feels pretty damn proud of himself for not being a complete ass which is why he treats himself to a little nip of brandy with his older brother in the study.

 _well niklaus, you did quite decently. although I’m sure that poor young man will be scarred for life_ , elijah remarks mouthing the rim of his tumbler. his jacket is off, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, tie askew.

 _yes, I was rather diplomatic_ , he replies, dimpling the apples of his cheeks.

stefan saunters in, pours himself a glass and nods at the brothers. _just got off the phone with bonnie_ , he says and klaus gives him the _okay why the fuck is this important information look_. the youngest brother with the bottle green eyes, his oldest and only real friend, sets his mouth in a thin line and opens his lips to speak after a beat of silence but never gets any words out before klaus drains his brandy and stalks out of the room.

 _she’s fine_ , klaus listens in to stefan’s words, _she just wanted to let me know that she was returning to the states for a period of time. croatia is overrun with tourists for the summer holidays._

klaus hears his brother exhale, _one day he’ll be able to bear the weight of her. but today is not that day._

x

stefan and rebekah fly to virginia the following morning to pick up bonnie and caroline.

klaus takes hope to school and blindsides her boyfriend with a look so scary that he witnesses the boy hold up a hand for cover. weakling.

he has marcel’s guys pour every bottle of champagne in the mississippi and spends the rest of the day in the bell tower of st. louis preparing for a hurricane and drinking locals and cheap whiskey.

he makes a concerted effort not to lay a hand on his paints.

x

he feels like a child, but he leaves the city that evening under the fall of dusk and flies to rome.

he stands in the piazza navona with the lights bouncing off the handsome structures, brilliant starlight and the crook of a crescent mocking him from the skies. people pass in a flurry, blurring in his vision and standing erect and motionless, he begins to scream.

halfway across the world, caroline arrives at his home and hides her disappointment as best she can upon seeing the chair at the head of the table without its occupant.

x

he prays the novena in the chapel of the vatican at noon the next day. then he returns to the airport and pretends to be brave.

she stands on the brink of the levees, magnolias littering the ground at her feet, her lips around a bottle of prosecco because, with embarrassment, marcel admitted that he had been commanded to dump all the champagne in the river _(you know him, he’s a goddamn drama queen_ ). then she returns to the mansion and pretends to be brave.

x

it’s some kind of twisted fate that they meet in the courtyard as cocktails are being served. stefan has his arm around rebekah’s shoulders and offers a caroline a drink at the same moment that haley is berating klaus for not signing hope’s field trip permission form. the air stops and silence reverberates off the stone walls.

it’s his daughter that finally gives in, appearing completely unapologetic. _shit, dad, awkward._

this seems to spark something because elijah presses his fingers to the crease of his forehead and mentions haley over. they disappear through French doors, guiding hope with one hand around the crook of her elbow. her face is indecent which cause stefan to snort until rebekah smacks his shoulder and strong arms him into the kitchen.

 _oh come on, beks,_ is the last thing said before the quiet overtakes again.

caroline’s lower lip is trembling and klaus can’t seem to figure out what to do with his hands, but he seems to find his footing faster. then again, he is a little older and more mature.

 _drink?_ he offers, whisking a bottle of champagne out from the minibar cart. he’s wearing that smirk that fooled endless amounts of women for ages, but she knows better this time.

 _you’re such an ass. how did you even get that?_ she questions and it’s like the lock has clicked open and she’s sassing him as he’s trying to flirt with her and suddenly, she’s seventeen twice in a cobalt ball gown and they’re in a room full of art but he’s only staring at her.

she smiles at him and he ducks his head like a schoolboy with a crush.

x

hope watches the scene unfold from the kitchen alongside her mother, aunt, uncle, and the youngest brother.

 _so that’s her_ , she says, rapture caught on her voice, _I always wondered who the woman was that we only spoke of in hushed tones, her name like a curse on dad’s tongue. she’s beautiful. does she love him as he loves her?_

the young girl casts a sidelong glance at her family. no one stirs, no one even opens their mouths to speak, then rebekah closes her eyes and opens them quietly, charcoal laced lashes stark against her skin. _they’re undone by each other. how could she not_ , she says, eyes on stefan before returning her gaze to the grinning couple outside.

x

_(11:43 am. new orleans.)_

_you have one new message. tuesday, seven ten pm._

_‘ello! can you bake a pie for thursday’s meal? nik, I know that you’re grumbling right now, but it’s an easy task and we’re not going to leave it for matt to do because he’ll get one from the gas station. see you soon and thanks_!

it’s thanksgiving and his kitchen is a mess. there is flour all over the floor and his jeans and his black sweater. there is a dusting of pumpkin puree struck across the apple of his cheek and caroline is doubled over by the fireplace with mirth. she can barely get the words out from laughing so hard.

 _let’s make a pie for stefan and rebekah’s dinner_ , she says in a deep british accented tone, wiping at her forehead, smudging the sugar already twinkling in the crown of her curls. she’s mocking him as he nods with a smug smirk at her, reaching out a hand towards her waist, other palm already lightning quick to snatch the mixing bowl from the granite countertop. he upends it over both their heads, coating the tiles further in the nutmeg scented mush.

she continues to laugh, loud peals of joy bouncing off the walls and he stares at her, thumbing some of it off the bow of her lips. it sticks to his fingers and leaves prints on her sundress. her feet are bare and the nails are painted red, her flush is against his chest, and oh god, he kisses her and she smiles upon his mouth.

he spins her around, sweeping circles in the flour and egg on the floor. no one watches through the window, but that’s fine. now she holds on to him and crawls inside his heart and stays there.


End file.
